12. Nora #2
His hands are everywhere at once—in my hair, down my back, beneath my blouse—unfastening buttons too fiddly for my trembling fingers.
In return, I tear open his shirt, revealing his taut torso and the tattoos etched into his skin.
They tell a story of violence and retribution in a language I don't understand but can read all the same.
“Greedy this afternoon?” he asks gruffly before his teeth bite down on my lip. I let out a yelp and wrap a leg around him.
“Just feck me,” I grunt when he lets go of my lip with a chuckle.
Connor's grin is wicked as he roughly unbuckles his belt and kicks off his boots.
"With pleasure," he growls, and then his mouth is on me again, stealing my breath and any semblance of composure I had left.
His kisses are bruising, possessive, as if he's trying to claim every inch of my skin with his lips alone.
My back arches into him, my legs tangling with his as we writhe against each other on the worn couch.
“God, we should’ve done this last night….” There was no place in that old warehouse, and even here it’s not comfortable.
I tear at my jeans, frustrated by the buttons that refuse to budge.
Connor chuckles darkly and helps me, yanking them off with a force that almost rips them apart.
He discards them and then pins me beneath his body, the solid length of his arousal pressing into my thigh through his boxers that bulge in the opening of his fly.
“You want me to feck you in a random deserted warehouse?”
“I want you to possess me anytime, any place,” I tell him as I push on the waistband of his jeans. His fingers tear at my shirt and pull it over my head, then tug at my bra strap until I’m bare beneath him.
“You don’t know what you're saying, Nora,” he cautions, but I do know. After speaking with my mother, I know this is the way out. It might not be what I envisioned, but I know it’s the only way.
“Don’t underestimate me, O’Rourke.” Curling my knees to either side of my chest, I plant them on the thickness of his belt and shove his jeans and boxers down with such force that his cock slaps his stomach when it’s loosed.
Connor's breath catches in his throat at my words, and for a fleeting moment, his blue eyes soften.
Then, with a low growl, he positions himself between my thighs and pushes inside me in one deep, searing stroke.
I gasp aloud at the feeling of him filling me so completely and so deeply.
His hips rock against mine, imposing his rhythm upon me as he delivers on his promise to claim me fully and completely.
"God, Nora," he pants into my ear, his teeth grazing my neck. "Forbidden feels so fecking good…” His hands grip my hips, almost leaving bruises as he grinds himself against me, thrusting deeper and harder still. I can feel every hard ridge of muscle in his arms tensing as he holds me down.
I try to reach for his chest, and his left hand catches one wrist then the other and slowly, he stretches my arms upward to pin my hands over my head as his thrusts slow.
“Don’t ever lead me on. Don’t you ever say things to me just to get me off.
If you don’t mean it, don’t even think it around me. ”
The words sound more like a threat than his emotions coming out, but I see the way he looks at me, feel the way his body tenses and slows each time he pulls back only to thrust in again.
“Who says I don’t mean it?” I ask him, and I feel the defiance rising up in my chest. This moment with him feels more right than a thousand I’ve lived before. I don’t want to start a war. I just want my heart to never feel anything but what it feels right now.
“Shit,” he hisses, kissing me again. Then his kisses trail down my jaw, along my neck, down my collar bone.
He lets go of my hands and takes a nipple into his mouth to suck, and I press on his shoulders, urging him lower.
“I’m gonna fecking destroy your pussy,” he grunts as I guide him lower still, across my navel, to where my thighs can squeeze his head.
Connor's tongue feels like pure sin as it teases me, flicking over my sensitive clit, driving me higher and higher.
My head arches back against the couch cushion, and I bite my lip to muffle my moans.
This is what it should feel like, this skin on skin, mouth on mouth, the dizzying sensation of Connor's touch making me question my own sanity and morals.
"Connor," I pant, arching into him, desperate for more contact, more of whatever he will do to me next.
His mouth leaves a trail of fire where it goes, his fingers replacing his tongue between my legs as he slides two inside me.
My nails claw at the couch leather as he curls them inside me just so, sending electric shocks straight to my core.
"God help me," I moan, not caring who hears. His lips wrap around my clit, and he begins to suck so intensely, I think I’ll lose control of my bladder.
Connor's tongue and fingers work a devious magic, bringing me to the brink of climax in seconds.
Moans pour from my lips, unable to be contained any longer.
"Yes," I manage to gasp out as he sucks my clit hard into his mouth, sending me flying over the edge into orgasm.
Wave after wave of pleasure washes over me, each more intense than the last, until I'm trembling and boneless beneath him.
Gasping for air, I look up at Connor, who's watching me with a feral grin on his face. "You taste even better than I imagined," he growls before returning to suck more. I’m jolting, twitching with a stupid grin on my face as I grab a handful of hair and pull him upward.
His kisses leave sloppy wet marks on my skin—partly his spit, mostly my juices. He sucks a nipple on his way back up before his dick is lined up with my entrance again.
Connor's voice is rough against my ear as he slides inch by aching inch inside me, stretching me in the best possible way.
"Feels like you were made for me," he growls, and I believe him.
We fit together like pieces of a puzzle, no awkwardness or hesitation.
His hips grind against mine with a desperation that matches my own as we find our rhythm, our bodies moving as one to an ancient, primal beat.
"Mmm," I moan into the crook of his neck, my nails biting into his back as the first wave of pleasure starts to build deep in my core. "God, Connor…"
Connor's response is a grunt as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his hips picking up speed. "Feck, Nora…”
I arch my hips upward, meeting his every thrust, greedy for more. Every time he bottoms out inside me, white-hot pleasure surges through my veins. My climax is building again, even though it feels like just seconds ago that I came apart in his mouth. "Yes! Connor, harder," I moan breathlessly.
His teeth sink into my shoulder, leaving teeth marks I know I'll wear with pride tomorrow, as he slams into me even harder. Faster. The couch beneath us creaks in protest, but he doesn’t slow down, and I don’t stop panting.
My legs hook around his hips, and the angle sends me over the edge again, spasming and jolting around him until he’s grunting too and heat floods my core.
Connor doesn't pull away. He wraps his arms around me and holds me like I might disappear if he lets go. His breath is still fast against my neck, but his voice is steady when he speaks.
"You know what this means now. If we keep doing this—if anyone finds out—your father will come after me. He’ll kill me, Nora. He won’t just make threats. He’ll make a point."
His words cut through the fog of release, landing hard. He’s right. We both know it.
"And Ronan—your family—if they think I’m manipulating you…" I push my hair back from my face and look at him—really look at him.
"I know what I’m doing." Connor searches my eyes like he’s trying to find a crack, a hesitation he can wedge apart. But I’m steady.
I draw in a slow breath. "I think I just declared war on my family."